| When the shells had ceased their falling
|
| The young muslim and the serb
|
| Listened for the old man’s music
|
| But now not a note was heard
|
| And fearing what had happened
|
| Each did, what should not be dared
|
| And made their way through no man’s land
|
| To the old medieval square
|
| They arrived at the same moment
|
| In the cold december air
|
| But neither pulled a weapon
|
| For each knew why they were there
|
| And they walked over to the fountain
|
| And found him laying there in death
|
| There was blood upon his face
|
| The smashed cello on his chest
|
| But then a single drop of liquid
|
| Fell from out the cloudless sky
|
| And it fell upon the cheek
|
| Of the man who had just died
|
| And the soldier felt a shudder
|
| For the worst had come he feared
|
| When the only sing of pity
|
| Was a single gargoyle’s tear
|
| He turned to the young woman
|
| And he said let’s leave this war
|
| But a soldier and his uniform
|
| Was all that she now saw |